[2Pac]I thought I hit rock bottom, they ban my album, point the fingaI guess nobody loves a real nigga-slash-rap singerI thought I'd bring a little truth to the young troopsI brought proof that the niggaz need guns tooIt's not to be a racist, but let's face this:wouldn't you if we could trade places?I got lynched by some crooked cops, and to this daythem same motherfuckers on the beat gettin major paidBut when I get my check they takin tax outSo, we payin for these pigs to knock the blacks outAin't that a bitch, some officers are gettin richWhoopin on thugs and robbin drug dealers for they shitAs far as jealousy, bein a celebrityNo matter who committed the crime, they all yell at meAnd the media is greedier than mostYou could sell em your soul or they'll be on ya til a niggaz ghostAnd everyday I read the paper there's another lieThey show my picture for the crimes of another guyNow how's that for the life of a big shotA dead cop, a law suit, a little kid shotI play them nuttin ass marks in the parkfor tryin to earn they stripes in the darkJust cause I come there, don't mean I from there, peep:only jealous motherfuckers beef, and point the finga

Chorus: repeat 4X

Boom boom boom on your black ass, bitch{*1} {*2}

[2Pac]As I run up on em madman, a nutcase with a screw looseA zoot troupe full of foolies with tooliesNiggaz run to me don't come to me with beefTake your jewels and your jeep, boom boom! Let that ass sleepIt's gettin hectic, niggaz run, quickBuckshots are the payback for dumb shitAll you niggaz on the block tryin to test meBest wear a vest or get open like, sesameI'll run up on you mad deep; while you're tryin to sleepI'm steady pumpin bullets in your sheetsWake up, motherfucker, don't stutterPoint blank by a nigga from the gutter, yeah!Gimme mine, gimme mine, gimme, mineBan my rhymes, now I'm back to bustin, ninesAnd bustaz can't get none, hell noA quick flurry and he's buried with a swelled jawI came up from the amateurs to pro hitsat 5-0, so you know I take no shitAnd everybody wants to kill a bringerof bad news, so they choose, to point the finga

Chorus

[2Pac]One two three, peace to the real G'sStill me, til these motherfuckers kill meI bring skills and I build, kill at willSmoke sess til I'm ill, still feel me?I say one two three, peace to the real G'sStill me, til these motherfuckers kill mePick it up, pick it up, give it upBest to duck or get fucked for your bucksScream one two three, peace to the real G'sStill me, til these motherfuckers kill meI can't give up, it's a black thangAnd I ain't goin back to the crack game(You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run)Bitches, let em point the finga(You can do it son; be a man and stand up or run)Snitches, let em point the fingaYo, one two three, peace to the real G'sStill me, til these motherfuckers kill meI guess nobody loves a rap singerThat's why these motherfuckers.. (hahaha!) point the finga